by Lane Hart
“C-cold,” he stammers because he’s also shivering.
“Sorry, but no more blankets for you until your fever comes down,” I say to him, even though he probably can’t hear me.
Grabbing the thermometer from the top of the dresser, I sit on the edge of the mattress and ease the device underneath his armpit to see just how high it’s gone since my last check around four a.m. At that time, it had been a perfect ninety-eight point eight, so I had slipped back into bed with Sax.
Cooper barely notices what I’m doing with his teeth chattering so hard and the rest of his body shuddering.
Finally the low beep on the thermometer tells me it’s finished, and I cringe at the result. His temperature is now a hundred and one underneath his arm, which is usually one degree lower than the actual temp.
I hurry into the bedroom Sax and I slept in last night to tell him the bad news.
“Sax,” I say when I’m standing next to his side of the bed and giving his bare shoulder a shake. “Hey, Sax. Cooper has a fever.”
“Shit,” his groggy voice grumbles before his eyes even open. “High?”
“High enough,” I reply as he peeks at me with one blue eye. “We can try giving him some Tylenol and see if that will bring it down, but it’s worrisome either way. His body is trying to fight an infection.”
“Yeah, let’s hope the Tylenol works,” Sax agrees.
“Can you help me sit Cooper up so he can swallow a few pills? He’s shivering and looks pretty miserable.”
“Ah, yeah, of course,” Sax says as he pushes himself up in the bed. “Let me throw on my clothes and I’ll meet you in his room.”
“I’ll go grab the bottle from the kitchen cabinet,” I say since I remember seeing a few of the standard meds in there yesterday.
It’s not easy to get Cooper alert enough to take the pills, but we finally get him to swallow two extra strength Tylenol with a sip of water before he passes out again.
“Why is he so…” Sax asks as we stand over his friend. “Out of it.”
“His body is trying to recover from a serious trauma. Hopefully it’s just the high fever making him weak and sleepy, but for all we know he could have internal injuries. Without a CT or MRI, there’s no way to know.”
“You think we need to take him to the hospital?” Sax asks.
“Yes, but I understand the reason you can’t,” I assure him. “For now we can attribute his condition to the fever, but we may need to find something stronger than Tylenol if it doesn’t come down soon.”
“Yeah, okay,” Sax agrees. “What do we do now?”
“Wait,” I tell him. “That’s all we can do. Wait and let him rest and recover. He’s lucky to be alive. If he can survive a building blowing up, he’ll be able to overcome these injuries.”
Sax
While waiting to see if Coop’s meds work, I join the guys in the living room to watch a baseball game on television. Despite the delicious meal Isobel made yesterday for us, today the guys are brooding, worried about Cooper’s rising temp and missing their women. The silence and tension is so thick in the room that you could cut it. So, when I see Isobel walk out the back door with her guitar in her hands, I get up and follow her.
She’s already seated on one of the steps, strumming her pick over the strings when I walk outside.
“Bored?” I ask her when I sit down beside her.
“No, not at all,” she replies with a smile. “I enjoy the downtime. But I need a distraction to keep myself from worrying unnecessarily about Cooper’s fever.”
“You’re worried about him?” I ask in surprise.
“Well, yeah. He’s my patient, and a fever means infection,” Isobel responds. “If his body can’t fight it…”
“We’ll need something strong and may have to cave and take him to the hospital?” I finish.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “And I know that would make everything more complicated when the guys are already tense enough as it is, concerned for Cooper and upset about who is responsible.”
“Well, let’s just pray the fever comes down,” I say on a sigh.
Isobel’s fingers move over the guitar strings as she starts playing a somewhat familiar tune.
“Some people don’t believe it, but I think music is good for the soul,” she tells me. “Studies even show that it can have a positive effect on the sick when the songs are relaxing and familiar.”
“Really?” I reply since I’ve never thought about music as a remedy to ailments.
“Sure,” Isobel says. “Music can reduce anxiety, help depression, lower your heart rate and blood pressure. There’s a reason so many people enjoy hearing their favorite songs over and over again. Listening to music releases dopamine, which lifts your mood. Everyone knows a song that can lift you up every time you hear it.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Like what?”
Instead of telling me a song title, Isobel plays the tune on her guitar until I catch on. “Walking on Sunshine, right?” I guess, then I remember the jackass at her father’s house mentioning it. Daniel said Isobel would sing it to their patients to calm them down and it always worked.
“Who can listen to this song and not find themselves just a little bit happier after it’s over?” she says as she plays the last cord.
“That’s very true,” I agree. “Even if it’s not exactly my style, it’s still uplifting.”
“So what is your style?” Isobel asks.
“I don’t know, I listen to rock mostly. Guys like Tom Petty. I’ve got a bunch of his CDs on the boat.”
Isobel adjusts her grip on the neck of her guitar, and a moment later begins strumming “American Girl”. As she settles into the rhythm, she begins to sing the familiar lyrics while I sit and stare at her, mesmerized.
“Who else do you like?” she smiles at me as she finishes the song with a flourish a few minutes later.
“I…Isobel, that was awesome,” I tell her. “Another singer I like? Man, I don’t know, maybe Bruce Springsteen?” I stammer. I’m struck speechless when she immediately launches into another song, “Born to Run”. I stare at her slack-jawed, still unable to find any words when she finishes the song.
“How do you do that?” I finally manage to ask her. “How do you just know the chords and lyrics off the top of your head?” I ask her in total awe. I knew she was talented after seeing her on stage, but now she’s blowing my mind.
Lifting one of her shoulders and letting if fall, she says, “Music comes as naturally to me as breathing.”
“Then why not make a career out of it, Iz?” I ask.
“Because no one sucks the soul out of music more than record labels. Musicians are squeezed for every penny so that the greedy corporate assholes can get richer. I want more freedom, not less, even if I do love to sing and play.”
“I, ah, I guess that makes sense,” I tell her. Isobel refuses to be tied down by anything or anyone. And here I am, trying to do just that to her.
“I play in the bars I want and don’t ask for a dime,” she says. “I do it because I want to and I enjoy it, not to try and profit off of something I love.”
“I get it,” I say honestly. Slipping my hand up underneath the back of her shirt, I lean over to kiss her cheek and then move my lips down to her neck, over her ear. “Will you play something else for me?” I ask.
“Any requests?” she asks as she shivers.
“Lady’s choice,” I reply, nipping at her neck with my teeth before I move away.
“Well, in that case,” she says as she starts to strum the tune. It’s not a song I recognize right away, although the lyrics start out a little harsh. When she gets to the chorus of Jewell’s “Who Will Save Your Soul” the hairs on my arms stand up, and not in the same way as they did the first time I heard Isobel singing on stage. No, this time, the song is too accusatory because I’ve been lying to her and I feel wretched for it.
Isobel was wrong. Sometimes songs can make a person feel worse than they alre
ady felt, not better.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts, drowning in my sea of guilt, that I don’t even notice the back door is open until there’s a round of applause and even a few whistles when Isobel stops playing.
“She’s a nurse, she cooks, and she sings like an angel?” Dalton says. “You better put a ring on her finger and lock that shit down now, Sax,” he adds, reaching down to slap my shoulder.
“Thank you, boys,” Isobel says when she stands up with her guitar still slung over her shoulder to turn around and take a bow.
“Do you know any nineties bands, Alice in Chains or Pearl Jam?” Abe asks.
Shaking myself out of my own dark thoughts, I tell the guys, “She’s like a human jukebox. Name a song and she can play it.”
“No way,” Maddox says. “How about playing some Skynyrd?”
For the next hour, Isobel gives the Savage Kings their own private concert. And just one look at all their faces and I can see exactly what she means about music relaxing people. Everyone’s been tense and on edge since the bombings yesterday and while we wait for Cooper to get better. Then, Isobel worked her magic on them once again, this time with music instead of food, and there’s an entire shift in the mood around the house for the rest of the night.
She’s so fucking amazing, practically glowing with warmth and goodness. And I’m an asshole; because to save the Kings, I’m going to have to snuff out some of that light.
Chapter Eighteen
Sax
By morning, Cooper’s temperature is higher, not lower, so we call a group meeting in the kitchen.
“We’re gonna have to get him a hospital strength antibiotic,” Isobel tells us. “A tetanus shot wouldn’t hurt either since we don’t know if he’s had one in the past ten years. There was a lot of random debris lodged in his wounds.”
“Where do we get those kinds of things? A pharmacy?” Torin asks.
“We can’t get either from a pharmacy without a prescription or taking him there for the shot,” Isobel says. “A local hospital is our best bet. They’re busier with more staff running around, so it will be easier to steal from them than a pharmacy.”
“Okay, I’ll go,” I volunteer.
“No, Sax,” she objects. “You won’t know where or how to get in the medicine machines. I did an internship at the hospital and I can blend in.”
We all stare silently at her, likely thinking the same thing – she won’t blend in.
“I’ll dye my hair back to brown and throw on some scrubs. Trust me, guys, I can do this.”
“Fine, but I’m going with you,” I tell her.
“Okay, if you insist,” she agrees. “If someone can get me the hair dye and scrubs, we can go tonight. Hospital ERs get flooded on the weekends when doctor offices are closed, especially after dark when people start drinking and doing idiotic shit.”
“I’ll go get both of those things for you right now,” Cedric volunteers. Probably because he knows we would likely send him out anyway since he’s a prospect.
And sure enough, a few hours later, Isobel comes out of the bathroom looking so…normal. I can’t believe how differently she looks with her hair back to its natural color, or at least a hair color found in nature. She’s now the innocent girl her father so desperately wants her to be.
“I prefer the blue hair,” I tell her as I pick up a silky strand hanging beside her face and let it slide through my fingers.
“Good, because it’s going back to turquoise and purple as soon as we get this done,” she promises.
Despite how natural she looks, I realize that this girl isn’t the real Isobel. She once told her father that the hair and leather dress were a costume, a way to hide the fact that she’s the governor’s daughter. Now I know she was lying. Her wild hair and lifestyle are who she really is, who she wants to be. And I don’t want to be the one to ask her to change for her father. But I have to try. There’s too much on the line.
Besides, Isobel only needs to go back to her normal life for a few months.
Or so I tell myself before I remember something the governor said to me the first day we met when he came to my cell.
He has presidential ambitions.
He doesn’t need Isobel to fit into his mold for a few months. I bet he’s going to try and force her to be someone she’s not for years.
Chapter Nineteen
Isobel
“I’ll stay nearby and create a distraction in case someone catches you,” Sax promises me after he kills the engine on his bike right outside the crowded ER parking lot. First, we had to make a quick stop at his boat to feed his cat, which was pretty freaking sweet.
“Just be patient,” I tell him. “First, I’ll need to snatch someone’s employee access card, and then I’ll have to watch nurses open the machines here a few times before I give it a try.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Be careful, and good luck,” he adds before giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll be in the waiting room. If you get into trouble, I’ll raise a ruckus while you get out.”
Ever since this afternoon when I dyed my hair, Sax has been acting off. I give him one more quick kiss, then walk briskly into the main entrance near the emergency room. Whatever is bugging him will have to wait, and I force myself to put it out of my mind as I walk through check-in and down the corridors into the bowels of the hospital.
The trick to doing anything shady, as I’ve learned through trial and error, is to always move confidently and act like you belong. The emergency room is wild and rocking tonight, with a cacophony of groans, shrieks, and raised voices echoing down the halls as I scan doorways, looking for one particular sign. Doctors in white coats and all sorts of nurses, aides, and staff in scrubs swirl past me as I roam, soon stumbling upon a back hall with the exact door I needed.
“On-Call Room,” I whisper. “Bingo!” I add as I lean on the wall just outside the door, doing my best to paste a worried expression on my face. While the hallway is clear, I surreptitiously attempt to open the door, but it’s locked, as I expected. There’s a small number pad over the handle, but I leave it alone for now. Only a few moments later I hear footsteps approaching, and when a man in a white coat appears around the corner reading a tablet, I quickly move to intercept him.
“Dr. Nelson!” I call out as I read his nametag. “Thank goodness you came along,” I gush with my most charming smile. “I’m a new intern, and this is my first rotation on the ER, and for the life of me I can’t remember the code to the lounge. I left my ID in there earlier…” I trail off with a helpless wide-eyed gaze, pleading for his assistance.
“You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last,” Dr. Nelson smiles at me, obviously smitten. “Heck, I had to write the codes down on my forearm for two weeks for all the doors in this place.” Walking over to the door, he punches a code into the pad, and cracks the door for me. “Shhh!” he mimes with a finger to his lips as he uses his foot to prop open the door. “Don’t wake the others or there will be hell to pay. Good luck, doctor…?”
“Wrigley,” I volunteer in a whisper. “Thank you so much, Dr. Nelson. I’ll see you around later, I’m sure!” I duck into the on-call room and quickly shut the door behind me, just in case my new friend had any ideas about following me.
Glancing around, I can see several figures curled up in the bunks in the shadows of the room. Interns are always run into the ground, so I breathe a small sigh of relief as I move deeper into the room. I know everyone in here could probably sleep through the apocalypse, so I’m not too worried about anyone noticing me. It only takes me one lap around the room to spot what I need. One of the interns is lying flat on her back, arm over her eyes, snoring softly with her ID clipped perfectly to the breast of her scrubs. With one deft movement, I lift it free, not even interrupting her breathing. If the rest of my plan holds up, I will be out of here before my victim ever wakes.
I ease back out of the on-call room with my newfound ID clipped to my scrubs, then dash back through
the hallways towards the emergency room. I’m lucky that I don’t need to steal any ‘hard’ drugs, as the issues Cooper is having should only require antibiotics. Once I’m near the emergency room, I quickly locate a supply closet and use the ID badge to swipe my way inside.
Inside, I grab a clean pair of navy-blue scrubs that are folded and stacked just inside the door, not even looking to see what size they are. I don’t need them to wear, but to hide the rest of my contraband. I quickly wrap up two IV kits as well as a bag of saline and electrolytes. Once I’ve secured the bundle under my arm, I leave the closet and head into the ER’s patient exam rooms.
I pause briefly outside each room to scan the patient’s charts, picking up each one and reading over it brazenly, as though I’m their treating physician. None of the nurses hustling through the ER stop to even glance at me; and in only a few minutes, I’ve found the room that I need.
“How are you doing, Mr. Wilkinson?” I ask as I walk into the room of an elderly gentleman who, according to his chart, is presenting tonight for suspicion of pneumonia.
“Doctor?” Mr. Wilkinson wheezes. “Thought you were just in here a moment ago. I must have nodded off there for a bit. I’m holding up all right, still just waiting for a room to open up. Looks like I’ll be staying a few days.”
“Well, we’re going to take excellent care of you, sir,” I reassure him as I check the medications on his IV pole. One bag of antibiotics is already flowing into him, but the nurses were good enough to prep a second bag of Zithromax and leave it hanging on standby on the pole. “Everything looks good here,” I add for the patient as I quickly add the secondary bag to my stash. “But if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call the nurse, okay?”
“Thanks again, doctor,” Mr. Wilkinson says as he shifts to a more comfortable position in the bed. With a small sigh of relief, I leave the room, trying unsuccessfully to squash the spike of guilt I feel at stealing the antibiotic from that poor old man. I have no doubt that it will be chalked up to a simple error and replaced, but I still can’t help feeling ashamed. Consoling myself with the knowledge that I’m doing this to help Cooper, I rejoin the crowd of people in the emergency room waiting area. I spot Sax immediately; and once I give him a small nod, he stands up and moves towards the exit doors.
